She Dances
by Mycroft-mione
Summary: Katniss and Peeta, now married with a young daughter, must confront their life together and resolve their nightmares of the past.


She always dances. Not the traditional sort of dancing that children learn in school, but the understated movements of her being, only visible to him. It's a light shining on her little world, giving him a glance where others are blind. When she taps her feet impatiently he can see brainwaves sprinting in circles.

"District Nine?" he suggests.

"I don't get why you're so obsessed with District Nine."

He curls his hand around hers, her fingers drop to her sides.

"It's only a suggestion," he says plaintitively. He sighs, pulling down his sleeves to ward off the chill blowing through the air.

"If our pick of district had to do with our parents' jobs, I'd probably be right here in Old Twelve- or Seven, for the woods- or wherever they did medicines. Because of my mother."

Even now she says 'mother' with disdain. He wonders how long it will take until her childhood misfortunes fade. They shouldn't still linger with her, being less jarring and persistent than the nightmares of the rebellion ten years ago.

"Why does it still matter where things _used_ to be?" she adds. "I want to forget. I have to. I thought you understood."

"I do, Katniss, who else understands better than me?"

"I'm going inside," she says suddenly.

"Why?" he asks, confused.

She looks at him with distaste. "To get my coat." As usual, he watches her feet as she heads up the damp steps, documenting observations without thinking about it. Her feet: _the slightest_ _hop_. And _a swipe of the railing_ _with her palm_. She slips past the door (ajar, so contact is unnecessary) and inside the house, reappearing in half a minute. But the feet he sees exit immediately aren't hers. Hazel comes first so the door can be bolted after her.

"What? I thought she was staying back at Gale's, for school," he says quickly, as soon as Hazel is looking the other way and they can speak privately. She frowns.

"Peeta. Hazel's coming with us."

"Katniss, no." He doesn't understand, and it bothers him, because he _always_ understands. They have _always_ understood each other, ever since...

She speaks with feminine gruffness: "Hazel, get in the car." Hazel gets in the car.

In her eyes he sees the same fear that struck him when they met as children, which made them stronger but tore them apart. The fear that has never left her, that eats away at her insides every time she speaks.

Her words to the Capitol were tools of punishment in Snow's hands, as he paraded his ability to deliver pain. Every time she spoke out, someone died. She found it easy to hate Snow and listen to Coin. But now that she is safe, and no one is threatened, he knows that the struggle with Snow killed her voice.

And awoke her dance.

* * *

She still hunts in the woods.

She says she likes being useful. He knows she likes being busy.

She does the cleaning of the game, though they rarely eat it. Hazel, who has never starved, hates fresh game that she can recognize - she cried when a rabbit was carried in from the woods, dead in a dirty woven bag. It's even worse if Hazel knew the animal prior to death. Now it all goes to the butcher.

But she has been teaching him the ways of the woods: everything he did wrong in the Games. He considers himself fairly graceful, with impossibly silent footsteps, although she can usually make an unflattering comparison to some clumsy animal. He can distinguish safe plants from dangerous ones, find his way in the moonlit twilight, place an arrow to a bow and shoot.

She has taught him to lock his eyes onto a target, bending his right arm over his shoulder, and slide an arrow out of the quiver. He knows to hold his breath, place the arrow to the bowstring, pull it taut. Then he must ignore all sound - even the beating of his own heart - in favor of focus on the kill.

He never shoots.

He watches her, who comes alive in the forest alone. She seems unaware that anyone is there besides her, the trees, the birds, and the sun. Each footstep is a practiced art and each all of her movements fluid. She is water, she could drip away into the shadows with ease.

When she spots her target, the bow becomes an extension of her body. A shot whistles past. She dances, and the prey goes down.

How can her killing be equally beautiful and sickening?

* * *

He realizes that he has been standing in the same place for a while, but can't make himself move.

"You say we're taking the week off-"

"Yep," she interjects as if he were stating a checklist.

"For spontaneity-"

"Yep," she repeats, and this time she's just exasperated. Before he can continue: "Sure, everything you're about to say, I don't care."

"But to get out of here for a bit, and look at somewhere new, because maybe that'll fix us? Because I know we're still broken, Katniss. And you say I'll pick the destination, yea? Well I say District Nine, and you- hop into the house- and get Hazel!"

"What do you mean, 'I hop into the house?'"

He doesn't answer. The conversation seems flimsy and insubstantial, like it started somewhere but the sky's all fogged up so he can't spy the station. He can't answer her now, just like he can't answer the Nine bit. She must not know about the dancing, not be aware of the way she adorns every movement. She is unknowingly hypnotizing.

"Forget it. Look, you obviously don't want to go to Old Nine," he mutters, running fingers through his hair.

"It's not Nine _itself_. I'm sure it's great." Her voice breaks on 'great.' Her narrowed eyes match his, and now it's her stubbornness that shows through. "But there's something wrong with what we're doing. It's like we're trapping ourselves here."

"That's why I'm suggesting Nine. It's far enough away, and we can leave Hazel with Gale, and-"

"No!" she practically spits.

"What?"

"What I'm saying is," -she searches for words- "I don't want to leave Hazel here because I don't want to come back in a week. A month, even. A harvest."

He begins to understand. He sits down on a wooden bench slowly, letting his eyes go out of focus as he gazes at the deadwood of the garden. "You were always the one who wanted to leave."

She stays standing.

"That was back with Gale, and I'm sorry I told you about that, but that doesn't matter anymore. I'm talking about us - here - us and Hazel, finding somewhere that doesn't hurt to wake up to."

"You don't want to come back."

She's shaking her head slowly. Her mouth is open, forming a small 'o', but she keeps biting her lower lip. "I thought you would feel the same way, after those Games. And the war."

"Of course I do!"

"Then why do you have this attachment to this place?"

There is a pause. He doesn't know. All he can think to himself is, _Katniss. Hazel. Me_. "I love the Meadow."

"Yeah, it's pretty. Guess that's what the baker boy would see," she teases, but it's cruel.

"It's different, now, though. I loved it because it was...us. It's where we started out. It was all that was really left of Old Twelve."

"Nothing is left of Old Twelve!" she yells, her face crumpling up at him. She closes her eyes, and he imagines he can see anger, but she's also dusted with sadness that she won't entirely show. The outburst is warranted. Their old home is a subject they don't talk about because they can't talk about it.

"I know," is all he can say.

"Do you really?"

"Katniss..."

She sits down beside him, without a word.

"Katniss, I want that too. The getting-away-from-here part, that's why I kept mentioning Old Nine. I never thought of actually leaving for good. I kinda associate this place with us, since this is where we all came to be a family. But all I really care about is being with you two."

"Peeta-"

"I don't care where we are, where we go." He takes her hand, squeezes it hard for his own sake as much as for hers.

Neither one of them will cry. He has a sense that she's still too angry with him, inside. But they hold each other, just hold each other until they can't disappear.

* * *

It's minutes, hours. Time passes and all he's thinking of is her, and him, and them. Hazel comes back outside not soon after because she's hungry, so they follow her to the wooden table, which shows the stains and stab marks their household has produced together. He finds a loaf from that morning's batch at the bakery.

Over dinner, he asks Hazel, "Have you ever wanted to see more than just Old Twelve?"

She answers, and by her response it's obvious she was listening in on her parents' conversation outside. He scolds, but is secretly relieved that most of the explaining can be skipped.

"We're thinking of taking a trip. It'll be a nice trip, you'll get to see a lot, but first we have to leave this house." He pauses to make sure she won't be upset. "We won't be coming back, unless something's wrong."

Hazel takes a moment to absorb the information, now not merely speculation. She pouts briefly, but her young age will help her forget this place when happier memories are to be had. One day they will tell her everything, but for now she is content.

They finish eating. Hazel goes to bed.

"Katniss?" he asks quietly.

"What is it?" she says, still seated at the table, deep in thought. Her fingers are deftly braiding her hair, slightly less shiny than when they were teenagers, but still worn the same way, for convenience. _Just like the rest of her_ , he notices, _they dance_.

"I know we're still broken, inside. I don't know if that's ever going to go away."

She's silent, still contemplating the tips of her hair. Split ends, probably.

"I think this will help, like you said. Although I know it's going to be hard."

That brings a smile to her face, though he can't imagine why. "Like we haven't done hard stuff."

"True. Two Hunger Games, one rebellion," - he meets her eyes, but she seems fine - "one Hazel..."

"I was thinking more about the childbirth part, which sucks, by the way," she scoffs.

"Point is, I promise that I'm committed to this. To the three of us, wherever we go."

She smiles a small smile, which quickly fades, but it's worth more to him in that moment than a thousand of Effie's ever did.

"I'll heal you if you'll heal me," she promises back.

They mourn, he learns, she dances. And together they move on.


End file.
